Chapter 2 Unravelling Threads

The Second Poem

Dear Diary,

Tomorrow is my birthday. I don't want to bore you with exactly how I feel-you already know how confused I am. And now, as if life wasn't complicated enough, I have a secret admirer.

I honestly don't know how to feel anymore. Excited? Flattered? Terrified? Maybe all three.

And the worst part? I keep wondering who this mysterious admirer could be. I hate being placed in this kind of position. What if it's not someone I like? What if it's someone I've barely noticed? Or worse-someone playing a cruel joke? I sincerely hate Suprises

Anyway, I guess I'll find out soon enough. Or maybe I won't. Life loves to keep me guessing, doesn't it?

-Abigail

Abigail closed the journal with a sigh, running her fingers over its worn blue cover. She tucked it under her pillow, as if hiding her thoughts would make them less real. Tomorrow was supposed to be a celebration, but the thought of everything-her birthday, her doubts, her secret admirer-made it hard to breathe.

The next morning, she approached her locker with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Part of her wanted to find another note. Another part of her wished for a normal, uneventful day.

But normal wasn't in the cards.

As she opened her locker, her eyes immediately landed on the folded paper nestled against her textbooks. Her heart thudded loudly in her chest.

Another poem.

With trembling fingers, she pulled it out, her breath catching as she unfolded it. The handwriting was unmistakable-elegant, deliberate. Her eyes scanned the words, her chest tightening with every line.

"On the eve of your day, beneath skies of blue,

I think of the gift the world has in you.

A heart so brave, yet so unsure,

A beauty within, both quiet and pure.

Tomorrow, you shine, as you always do,

But not just for them-for those who see you.

And though I may remain unknown,

My admiration is yours alone.

Mystery Lover"

Abigail stared at the words, her thoughts a whirlwind. It was beautiful, haunting even. But it also felt... invasive. Whoever this "Mystery Lover" was, they saw her-really saw her. And that scared her as much as it thrilled her.

She folded the note carefully and slipped it into her pocket, her fingers lingering on the paper. For a moment, she let herself imagine it was Ethan who had written it. But the thought brought no answers, only more questions.

Whoever Mystery Lover was, they weren't just playing a game.

They knew her.

Abigail's fingers brushed the note in her pocket as she walked into the music room, her thoughts racing. She couldn't shake the idea that Jane might be behind this. It would explain how the writer seemed to know so much about her-Jane knew her better than anyone.

Jane was seated at the piano, her fingers idly playing a soft melody. She looked up and grinned when she saw Abigail. "Hey, birthday girl!"

Abigail didn't return the smile. Instead, she dropped her bag onto the floor and crossed her arms.

Jane tilted her head, her grin faltering. "What's with the face? Did I forget something? Oh no, don't tell me I missed choir practice again."

Abigail pulled the note out of her pocket and held it up. "What is this, Jane?"

Jane blinked, clearly confused. "Um... a piece of paper?"

"Don't play dumb," Abigail said, her voice sharper than she intended. "Did you write this?"

Jane stood and walked over, taking the note from Abigail's hand. As her eyes skimmed the words, her confusion turned to amusement. "Wait, you think I wrote this?"

Abigail folded her arms tighter. "Well, it wouldn't be the first time you pulled a prank on me. And who else would know about my Favorite colour or how I feel about my birthday? You're the only one I talk to about that stuff."

Jane's laughter rang out, light and incredulous. "Abby, I love you, but poetry? Really? If I wrote this, it'd be full of bad rhymes and probably something about how much you hate gym class."

Abigail frowned, her suspicion wavering. "So, you're saying you didn't write it?"

Jane handed the note back to her, shaking her head. "I swear on every bad prom dress in existence, this isn't me. But... whoever wrote it? They're good. Like, seriously. This is some professional-level swooning right here."

Abigail sank into a chair, letting the note rest on the table in front of her. "Then who could it be? I don't like this, Jane. It's weird."

Jane sat across from her, resting her chin on her hand. "Okay, let's think about this logically. Someone obviously knows you well enough to get the details right. Do you think it could be a teacher? Maybe Mr. Carter? He's always quoting poetry. And pointing you out during history class"

"Ew, Jane! No!" Abigail groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Jane laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. Not Mr. Carter. So, what about Tyler?"

"I taught so at first, but he isn't romantic enough to pull it off" Abigail muttered.

"I think It could still be him," Jane said. "Think about it-he's probably trying to win you over after you rejected him for prom. He loves being the centre of attention, and what's more dramatic than secret poetry?"

Abigail shook her head. "It doesn't feel like him. Tyler isn't exactly subtle, and he's never shown any interest in poetry."

Jane tapped her fingers against the table thoughtfully. "Okay, fair. What about Ethan?"

Abigail's stomach flipped at the mention of his name. "Why would it be Ethan?" she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Jane smirked. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe because he looks at you like you're the only girl in the room? You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

Abigail's face heated. "He does not."

"Sure, keep telling yourself that." Jane leaned back, crossing her arms. "But honestly, this Mystery Lover thing is kind of exciting. It's like living in one of those romance novels you're always reading."

"It doesn't feel exciting," Abigail said quietly. "It feels... overwhelming. Like they see more of me than I want anyone to see."

Jane's expression softened. She reached across the table and squeezed Abigail's hand. "I get it, Abby. But maybe it's not such a bad thing. Maybe whoever this is, they're trying to show you that you're more than you think you are."

Abigail looked down at the note, the words blurring as her thoughts swirled. "I just don't know what to do."

Jane smiled gently. "Here's what we're going to do: nothing. If they want to stay mysterious, let them. If they're serious, they'll show themselves eventually. In the meantime, you've got a birthday to celebrate, and I've got something amazing planned for you."

Abigail raised an eyebrow. "Do I want to know what you've planned?"

"Nope." Jane stood, grabbing her bag with a grin. "But trust me, it's going to be great. Now, let's get to class before the bell rings and ruins your mystery-solving mood."

As they walked out of the music room, Abigail felt a flicker of relief. Jane was right-if this Mystery Lover was serious, they'd reveal themselves eventually. For now, she had a birthday to survive.

But deep down, the questions lingered. Who was Mystery Lover? And what did they really want?

As the school day dragged on, Abigail couldn't shake Jane's suggestion that Tyler might be the Mystery Lover. It made a twisted sort of sense. Tyler loved attention, and what better way to make her notice him than with flowery words and a mysterious allure?

She hated how the thought gnawed at her. The only way to be sure was to ask him outright.

Abigail spotted Tyler near the lockers between classes, leaning against the wall with his usual crowd. He was in the middle of an exaggerated story, his voice carrying above the noise of the hallway.

Gathering her courage, Abigail walked up to him, her heart pounding. Tyler noticed her approach and straightened, his trademark smirk creeping onto his face. "Well, well. To what do I owe the Honor, Princess Abigail?"

The smugness in his tone made her falter, but she pressed on. "I need to ask you something."

"Oh, this sounds serious," Tyler said, raising an eyebrow. His friends snickered behind him.

Abigail glanced around, suddenly hyper-aware of the onlookers. Her cheeks burned, but she couldn't back out now. "Did you... did you leave something in my locker?"

Tyler's smirk widened. "Your locker? Can't say I did, but now I'm curious. What'd you find? A love letter? A secret admirer?"

The laughter from his friends grew louder, and Abigail's stomach twisted. She hadn't even mentioned the poem, but Tyler had jumped straight to it. Did that mean he was the one?

"Just answer the question," she said, her voice firmer now.

Tyler folded his arms, leaning closer. "Let me guess: you think I've been pining after you, pouring my heart out in cheesy rhymes?"

Abigail's heart sank. She could hear the mocking edge in his voice.

"Well?" Tyler pressed, his grin turning sharp. "You must think the whole school is in love with you. Newsflash, Abigail: not everything revolves around you."

Abigail's breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. The humiliation was suffocating.

"I get it, though," Tyler continued, his voice dripping with false sympathy. "You're used to everyone falling at your feet. Must be tough when someone doesn't."

The crowd's laughter felt like it was echoing in her ears. Unable to take any more, Abigail turned and walked away as quickly as she could, her vision blurring with unshed tears.

She didn't stop until she was in the empty music room, the familiar scent of polished wood and sheet music wrapping around her like a fragile shield. Sitting down at the piano bench, she pulled the poem from her pocket and stared at it.

How had she let herself think it might be Tyler? How had she let him get under her skin like that?

The words on the page felt heavier now, more complicated. Whoever had written this saw a version of her that didn't exist in Tyler's world. They saw someone worth noticing-not for her looks or popularity, but for something deeper.

Jane found her there a few minutes later, still clutching the note. "Abby? Are you okay?"

Abigail shook her head, blinking back tears. "It wasn't him."

Jane sat down beside her, her expression softening. "Tyler?"

"Yeah," Abigail said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I thought... I thought maybe it was him, but I was wrong. He made me feel so stupid, Jane."

Jane reached out, squeezing her shoulder. "He's an idiot. Don't let him get to you."

"I just don't understand," Abigail said, her frustration bubbling to the surface. "Why would someone do this? Why would they leave these poems and then hide? What's the point?"

Jane took the poem from her hand, studying it with a thoughtful expression. "Maybe they're scared," she said after a moment. "Maybe they're afraid you'll reject them. Or maybe they just like the mystery of it all."

Abigail sighed, leaning her elbows on the piano. "I don't know if I can handle this, Jane. It's like... they see this version of me that I don't even see in myself. What if I can't live up to it?"

Jane gave her a lopsided smile. "Abby, you're overthinking this. Whoever this is, they're obviously into you for a reason. And Tyler? Forget him. He doesn't deserve a second thought."

Abigail nodded, though the knot in her chest didn't loosen. "Thanks, Jane."

"Anytime," Jane said, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "Now, enough about Mystery Lover and Tyler the Terrible. Let's focus on something more important-your birthday is still tomorrow o. You're still coming to my mom's place after school, right?"

Abigail managed a small smile. "Yeah. I'll be there."

"Good." Jane grinned, her usual spark returning. "Because I've got a surprise planned, and it's going to blow your mind."

The road home

The rhythmic hum of the train beneath them blended with Jane's chatter as the evening sky stretched outside the window. Abigail leaned her head against the cool glass, watching the world blur past. She felt a pang of anticipation mixed with comfort-home.

Jane nudged her shoulder. "You're awfully quiet for someone about to turn eighteen. Don't tell me, you're nervous about growing old?"

Abigail rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. "I'm not old, Jane. Just... reflective, I guess."

"Reflective, huh?" Jane quipped, flipping her hair dramatically. "Sounds serious. Should I prepare a speech for your grand debut into adulthood?"

Abigail laughed, grateful for Jane's humour. "Let's save the speeches for when you turn eighteen. I'll make it a big deal, I promise."

When they arrived at the station, Abigail's heart leapt at the sight of her younger brother, Noah, waiting at the platform with her grandma. Noah spotted her first, his face lighting up as he sprinted toward her.

"Abby!" he shouted, throwing his arms around her waist in a fierce hug.

"Noah!" Abigail laughed, ruffling his hair. "Look at you, you've grown taller!"

"I missed you," he said, his voice muffled against her coat.

Her grandma approached more slowly, her kind eyes crinkling with a smile. "My Abigail. Eighteen already. Where did the time go?"

Abigail wrapped her arms around her grandma, the familiar scent of lavender and flour enveloping her. "I missed you too, Grandma."

Jane stood back with a polite smile. "Mrs. Grey, it's nice to see you again."

"Jane, dear, you're as lovely as ever," Grandma said warmly. "Now, come along, both of you. I've made Abigail's Favorite."

The smell hit Abigail as soon as they stepped into the house-apple pie, warm and inviting, just like she remembered.

"Grandma, you didn't have to..." Abigail began, but her grandma waved her off.

"Nonsense! A birthday isn't a birthday without apple pie. Sit down, girls, and let me spoil you."

The evening passed in a blur of laughter and stories, with Noah eager to show off his latest drawings. Abigail couldn't stop smiling, feeling a rare peace settle over her.

When the clock struck midnight, her grandma disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with a small, lovingly decorated cake.

"Eighteen candles," her grandma said, her voice soft with emotion.

Abigail's heart swelled as the family gathered around, Jane leading them in an enthusiastic rendition of the birthday song.

As the final notes faded, her grandma stepped closer, her eyes shining. "Make a wish, my darling."

Abigail closed her eyes, the moment pressing against her. What did she want? To feel secure in who she was? To be loved, truly and deeply? To never feel alone again?

She took a deep breath and made her wish, her heart whispering a secret prayer as she blew out the candles.

The room erupted in cheers, Noah clapping the loudest. "Did you wish for something cool, Abby?"

She smiled down at him, ruffling his hair again. "It's a secret."

"Come on, tell me!" he pleaded, but Jane cut in, pulling Noah into a playful hug.

"Noah, birthday wishes don't come true if you say them out loud. Everyone knows that," Jane teased.

Abigail looked around the room, taking in the faces of the people she loved most. For a moment, the world felt perfect.

But as she helped her grandma slice the cake, her thoughts drifted. The notes, the poems, the lingering mystery... somewhere out there, someone was thinking about her, seeing her in a way she didn't quite see herself.

Her grandma's voice pulled her back. "Abigail, dear, are you all right?"

She nodded quickly, pushing the thoughts aside. Tonight was for family, for love, for celebrating this new chapter of her life.

For now, the mystery could wait.

Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains as Abigail stretched lazily, savoring the cozy warmth of her bed. She heard the soft hum of activity from the kitchen and the occasional chirp of birds outside. Jane's cheerful knock on her door broke the calm.

"Hey, sleepyhead! Time to get moving," Jane said, her smile as bright as the morning.

Abigail opened the door, still yawning. "Morning, Jane. You're leaving already?"

Jane adjusted the strap of her shoulder bag. "Yeah, my mom's expecting me. But don't worry, you're not off the hook. We've got something planned for you later today, so make sure you're ready when school's over. Trust me, you'll love it!"

Abigail raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Something planned? Should I be scared?"

Jane smirked. "Terrified. But also excited."

As Jane headed out, Abigail got ready for the day. She made her way to the kitchen, where her grandma had breakfast ready.

"Leaving already?" her grandma asked with a hint of disappointment.

"Just for now, Grandma. I'll come by again after school," Abigail promised, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Before she left, she handed her little brother, Noah, a drawing pad she'd bought for him. His eyes lit up as he hugged it tightly.

"Keep drawing, Noah. You're really good," Abigail said with a smile.

"You think so?" he asked, beaming.

"I know so," she replied, ruffling his hair. "And I want to see your progress when I visit later."

With one last wave, Abigail and Jane made their way to the train station. The ride back to school was filled with Jane teasing her about the mystery surprise, but Abigail was used to Jane's antics by now.

By the time they arrived at school, the campus was already abuzz with activity. Word had spread-it was Abigail's birthday.

"Happy birthday, Abigail!" one student called out as she walked past.

"Thanks!" she replied, her cheeks slightly pink from the attention.

Throughout the day, classmates stopped her in the halls, wishing her well. Even teachers smiled warmly at her, though they didn't spare her from assignments.

Just after Math class, Tyler made his move.

"Well, if it isn't the birthday princess," he sneered as she walked by. "I guess you think the world revolves around you today, huh?"

Abigail paused, turning to face him. She was tired of his antics. "You know, Tyler, if I wanted your opinion, I'd ask for it. But I don't, so maybe focus on your own life instead of mine."

Jane appeared beside her like a guardian angel, clapping her hands dramatically. "And that, folks, is how you handle a troll. Nicely done, Abigail."

Tyler scowled but said nothing more, retreating down the hallway.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of normalcy, punctuated by bursts of birthday cheer. In the afternoon, the school chorus surprised her during lunch, serenading her with a heartfelt rendition of "Happy Birthday." Abigail's cheeks burned with embarrassment, but she couldn't hide her smile as they wheeled out a small cake for her.

"Make a wish!" one of the singers urged as Abigail leaned forward to blow out the single candle.

Her mind raced for a moment before she settled on the same wish she'd made the night before. She blew out the candle to cheers and applause.

As the day wound down, Abigail was gathering her books from her locker when she heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Abigail."

She turned to find Ethan standing there, his usual calm demeanour slightly softened.

"Hi, Ethan," she said, caught off guard.

"I heard it's your birthday," he said, holding out a small package. "I, uh... made this for you."

Curious, she took it and carefully unwrapped the simple brown paper. Inside was a hand-drawn portrait of a single rose.

"Ethan, this is beautiful," she said, genuinely moved.

"I'm glad you like it," he replied, a faint smile gracing his lips.

As her fingers traced the delicate lines of the rose, her eyes were drawn to the border of the frame. It was lined with intricate symbols-random at first glance, but something about them tugged at her attention.

"Interesting choice for the border," she commented lightly, though she didn't linger on it.

Ethan shrugged. "Just something I came up with. Anyway, happy birthday, Abigail."

He turned and walked away before she could say more, leaving her holding the drawing. For a moment, she stood there, wondering if there was more to the gift than met the eye.

Jane appeared at her side, startling her.

"Whoa, is that from Ethan?" Jane asked, peering at the drawing.

Abigail nodded. "Yeah. It's... thoughtful, isn't it?"

"Thoughtful? It's gorgeous!" Jane exclaimed. "He likes you, Abigail. I'm calling it now."

Abigail shook her head, tucking the drawing into her bag. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

But as they headed to their next class, she couldn't help but replay the moment in her mind, the symbols etched in her thoughts.

The day was winding down, the sun casting long golden rays over the school courtyard as students began gathering their things to head home. Abigail felt the pleasant exhaustion of a day well-lived-surrounded by birthday wishes, cake, and surprises. Yet, as she walked toward her locker to grab her violin for practice, a sense of anticipation stirred within her.

She didn't know why, but something about the day felt incomplete, as if another piece of her puzzle waited to be uncovered.

Sliding her locker door open, she gasped softly. There, folded neatly and placed where she couldn't miss it, was another note. Her heart leapt as she glanced around, scanning the hallway for a clue-someone watching, a fleeting gaze-but no one seemed out of the ordinary.

With trembling fingers, she unfolded the paper.

The handwriting was the same as before-delicate, precise, and unmistakably intimate. This time, however, it wasn't just a poem. It was a love letter.

Abigail began to read:

Abigail,

From the moment I first saw you, I was captivated-not just by your beauty, though it is undeniable, but by something deeper. The way you carry yourself, the way your eyes seem to hold stories untold, and the way your smile lights up even the darkest days.

I long to know you better, to hear your laughter up close, to understand what makes your heart race and what soothes your soul. I dream of feeling your warmth, of seeing your smile directed at me and knowing it's because of something I said or did. I wonder how your hand would feel in mine, how your voice would sound when you whisper my name.

I find myself imagining the taste of your lips, the softness of your touch, and the strength of the woman behind those mesmerizing eyes.

Happy birthday, Abigail. I hope today was everything you deserve-and more. You're a light in this world, even if you don't always see it yourself.

One day, I will have the courage to put my feelings to voice and save you the trouble of trying to find me. I hope you will feel the same when you see me.

Your admirer,

Mystery Lover

Abigail stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat as she reread the final lines.

Her cheeks flushed, a whirlwind of emotions rushing through her-shock, flattery, confusion, and a tinge of nervous excitement. Who was he? What was he thinking, writing something so... vulnerable, so daring?

"Wow," she whispered to herself, clutching the note tightly.

Her first instinct was to find Jane. She needed someone to talk to, someone to help her make sense of this mystery.

Later, with Jane

Jane was sitting on the dorm bed, flipping through a magazine, when Abigail burst into the room.

"You're not going to believe this," Abigail said, holding up the letter.

Jane's eyes widened as she snatched it from Abigail's hand. "No way. Is this what I think it is?"

"Just read it."

Jane's expression shifted as she scanned the words, her mouth slowly curving into a grin. When she finished, she leaned back dramatically, fanning herself.

"Well, well, Miss Abigail. Someone is head over heels for you."

Abigail rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips. "I'm serious, Jane. This is... intense. And I have no idea who it is."

Jane sat up straighter, her detective mode activated. "Okay, let's think this through. Who could it be? Ethan? Tyler? Someone else entirely?"

"Not Tyler," Abigail said quickly. "He's... definitely not the type to write something like this."

Jane smirked. "Fair. Ethan, though... he did give you that drawing today. And those symbols around the rose? Kind of mysterious, don't you think?"

Abigail hesitated. "Maybe, but Ethan, I don't know, Why wouldn't he just walk to me". "What if this is just some elaborate prank? What if someone's just messing with me?"

Jane shook her head. "No way. No one writes something this heartfelt as a joke. Whoever this is, they're serious. And honestly? They sound pretty amazing."

"But why not just tell me who they are?" Abigail asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

Jane shrugged. "Maybe they're scared. Or maybe they think it's more romantic this way."

Abigail groaned, flopping back onto the bed. "This is so confusing."

Jane laughed, patting her shoulder. "Welcome to the world of secret admirers, my friend. Enjoy the ride."

For the rest of the evening, the letter stayed on Abigail's mind. She kept rereading it, each word sparking a new question, a new possibility. She didn't know who Mystery Lover was, but one thing was certain: whoever he was, he had managed to capture her attention-and a small part of her heart.

Party at Jane's House

Abigail stepped into Jane's home, and for a moment, she felt as though she'd walked into a dream. Streamers of gold and silver twisted along the ceiling, shimmering in the soft light of the chandelier. Bouquets of roses and lilies adorned every surface, their sweet fragrance mingling with the mouthwatering aroma of pastries and roasted chicken. Laughter bubbled through the air, blending with the soft hum of conversation and the faint strains of a string quartet playing from a record player in the corner.

"Surprise!" Jane's voice rang out, cutting through the noise. She stood in the centre of the room, radiant with joy, her arms wide open. Beside her, Mrs. Turner cradled a long, rectangular case wrapped in an elegant blue ribbon.

Abigail froze, her heart stumbling over itself. "What's going on?" she murmured, her voice barely audible over the crowd's cheers.

Jane bounded forward, grabbing Abigail's hand. "Come on! You'll see," she said, dragging her to the centre of the room. The guests stepped back, forming a loose circle.

Mrs. Turner offered the case to Abigail, her eyes shining with warmth. "Open it, dear. It's yours."

Abigail's hands trembled as she untied the ribbon. The case clicked open, revealing a violin nestled in rich velvet. Its body gleamed like polished mahogany, the curves flawless, the strings delicate yet strong under the light. A bow rested beside it, its horsehair pristine and taut.

"It's beautiful..." Abigail whispered, her voice catching in her throat. She looked up at Jane and her mother, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "I don't deserve this."

"Of course, you do," Jane said, her tone firm yet kind. "You've poured your heart into music with that old, battered violin. This... this is so you can truly shine."

Abigail's gratitude spilled over as she hugged Jane and Mrs. Turner, her tears dampening their shoulders. Applause erupted around them, a warm wave of affection that wrapped Abigail in its embrace. For the first time in a long while, she felt seen-not just for her beauty or her struggles, but for her passion.

The party flowed around her in a blur of laughter and conversation. Abigail's grandmother, seated near the fireplace with her younger brother by her side, beamed with pride. "Play us something, Abigail!" someone called out, and the crowd cheered in agreement.

Abigail raised the violin, her fingers moved slowly as they found their place on the strings. The bow glided smoothly, drawing out a melody that silenced the room. Each note was a prayer, a thank you, a promise.

The music paused abruptly as the low growl of an engine echoed outside. Abigail lowered the violin as headlights swept across the curtains. A military van rumbled to a stop in front of the house.

"Who could that be?" a voice murmured, the question spreading unease through the crowd.

Jane's eyes lit up with a mix of excitement and relief. "It must be Andrew!" she exclaimed, her voice brimming with hope. "He must've gotten leave early. I knew he wouldn't miss this!"

The guests smiled, murmuring their agreement as Jane rushed to the door. Abigail followed; her heart inexplicably heavy.

The music faded to silence as the door creaked open. A soldier stood there, framed by the soft glow of the porch light. He was young, his uniform neatly pressed, but the weariness in his eyes betrayed a lifetime of burdens.

"Andrew?" Jane's voice faltered, her smile trembling as she stepped forward. "Where's Andrew?"

The soldier's gaze dropped. He removed his cap, gripping it tightly in his hands. "Are you Mrs. Turner?" he asked, his voice steady but tinged with sorrow.

Mrs. Turner appeared at Jane's side, her expression a mask of quiet dread. "I'm Mrs. Turner," she said softly. "What... what's this about?"

The soldier hesitated, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He extended an envelope, his voice a low murmur. "Ma'am, I regret to inform you that your son, Private Andrew Turner, was killed in action two days ago. He was..." His words faltered, and he took a breath before continuing. "He was a hero."

The envelope slipped from Mrs. Turner's fingers as she crumpled to the floor with a guttural cry. Jane froze, her breath caught in her throat as if the world itself had stopped turning. Then, as if reality crashed down all at once, she screamed.

"No! No, that's not true! He said he'd come home! He promised me!" Jane wailed, collapsing into Abigail's arms.

Abigail held her tightly, her own tears spilling over as Jane sobbed uncontrollably. Across the room, Abigail's grandmother clutched her brother to her side, whispering prayers through trembling lips. The vibrant party atmosphere dissolved into muted sobs and whispered condolences.

Mrs. Turner, her face wet with tears, looked up at the soldier, her voice raw with pain. "How... how do I tell his father? How do I tell him our boy's gone?"

The soldier bowed his head, his hands clenched at his sides. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," he whispered.

Abigail's gaze fell on the violin, still resting on the table. It glowed faintly under the light, a reminder of the joy that had been stolen.

Outside, the van's headlights flickered once before disappearing into the night, leaving only the taste of grief behind.

Abigail tightened her grip on Jane. "I'm here," she murmured. "I'm here, and I won't leave you."

The night pressed on; the once-vibrant home now cloaked in fragile silence. Amid the shards of broken joy, Abigail found herself staring at the stars through the window. Their light seemed dimmer now, yet somehow, they still shone.

And in that quiet moment, she resolved that even in the face of life's cruelties, they would find a way to keep hope alive.